


Second Chances

by mfingenius



Series: Commissions [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Nightmares, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Spy Draco Malfoy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23566168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mfingenius/pseuds/mfingenius
Summary: Silence. Utter, absolute silence. Then,“You’re joking.”Neville sighs and leans back, placing his elbow on the back of the booth; he expected this.“I’m not,” he responds.His friends all stare at him, and it would be amusing to watch their faces if this were a joke, if it didn’t matter to him, but it does. He thinks he knows how they feel; if any of  them  had come telling him they were dating Draco Malfoy, and Neville had spent no time with him after the war, he would’ve reacted similarly.“You’re  joking ,” Harry repeats.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Series: Commissions [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593178
Comments: 52
Kudos: 569





	Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission for the lovely @yaoifangirl1500 <3

Silence. Utter, absolute silence. Then, 

“You’re joking.” 

Neville sighs and leans back, placing his elbow on the back of the booth; he expected this. 

“I’m not,” he responds. 

His friends all stare at him, and it would be amusing to watch their faces if this were a joke, if it didn’t matter to him, but it does. He thinks he knows how they feel; if any of _them_ had come telling him they were dating Draco Malfoy, and Neville had spent no time with him after the war, he would’ve reacted similarly. 

“You’re _joking_ ,” Harry repeats, and although Neville expected him to react the worst, he wishes it weren’t this way. 

“I’m not.” He shakes his head. “He’s changed.” 

“He’s _changed,”_ Ron says, skeptically. “He _bullied_ you year one through five! He bullied all of us!” 

“He’s not a bad person,” Neville says. 

He used to be, maybe. Draco was entitled, and bratty, and a bully all throughout their childhood, it’s true, but Neville knows he’s different now. 

“ _Not_ a bad person.” Harry repeats; he’s shaking his head disbelievingly, as if wondering whether Neville has finally lost his mind. Neville had wondered it, too, shortly after he’d realized his feelings for Draco, but he’d figured it didn’t matter. Whether he’s gone insane or not, he loves his boyfriend, and there’s nothing else he’s more certain of. 

“I’m happy for you,” Luna offers. She’d already known – she was eerily good at _knowing_ this sort of thing – but she’d figured it was best not to bring up while Neville wasn’t ready. 

“Thank you, Luna.” He smiles. 

Ginny, silent up until now, only speaks when he looks at her. 

“I don’t like him,” she says, honestly, lips tight. “But... he saved Fred.” 

Ron quiets when she mentions that, scowling lightly; he doesn’t like Draco, and he doesn’t want to have to think about the fact that he’s the only reason Fred is alive. He’d been the only one to see the Death Eater aiming his wand, and had cast a _Protego_ that hadn’t saved Fred from a few scars, but it had saved him from losing his life. 

“He spied for the order,” Hermione says, and everyone looks at her. She shrugs lightly. “He can’t be – _that_ bad.” 

Neville thinks there’s a time he wouldn’t have believed it; if he’s quite honest, when he’d found out about Draco spying – McGonagall had made him Draco’s contact, of sorts, to pass on information, and they’d both taken an Unbreakable Vow that left them unable to tell anyone else about their situation – he’d been almost entirely sure it was somehow a trick. 

It wasn’t; Draco’s Unbreakable Vow included him being unable to lie to Neville about what happened at the Manor, and Neville had been horrified by almost everything Draco had told him. He couldn’t imagine having to live there. 

“Being against mass genocide doesn’t automatically make you a good person.” Harry snaps. 

“But risking your life every day to spy in your own house could,” says Neville. 

Harry looks at him, his jaw clenched, and Neville doesn’t look away; he’s not fearless, of course, but living through a war changed his perspective on a lot of things, and one of the things he’s decided is this: he’s not afraid anymore. He refuses to live scared. 

Harry leans back, finally, sighing deeply. He runs a hand through his hair, looks at Neville, shortly, and then looks away again. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says. “If it were any other bloke – _any_ other bloke, Nev – I would have no problem with this.” 

Neville sighs. “I’m not expecting you to love this.” He looks around. “Any of you. But we’re dating. I’m in love with him, and we’re not breaking up any time soon. I’d like it if you’d at least try to – _not_ insult him when he’s here.” 

Harry tightens his jaw. 

* 

“They hate me,” Draco says. 

“They don’t,” Neville argues. Draco throws him one of his _looks_ , and Neville sighs. “They _mostly_ don’t.” 

Draco throws him another look, and Neville grabs him by the wrist and pulls him closer. Draco resists more to make a point than because he wants to, but with another tug, lets his boyfriend pull him in to press a kiss to his hair. 

“It’ll be fine, darling,” Neville tells him. “I made them promise to be nice.” 

Harry had been the only one who hadn’t promised – Ron had tried to resist, but Ginny had reminded him of Fred again – but it’s gone better than Neville expected it to. And Draco promised to be nice to everyone, but only to try to be nice to Harry, so Neville figures Harry should at least be able to defend himself; he knows his darling’s got a sharp tongue. 

“It’s not that,” Draco tells him, even if it is, a little bit; now that the war is over, he’s tired of fighting, tired of being angry, tired of constantly being on the defensive. He doesn’t want to have to do that around Neville’s friends, even if he knows that their aggressiveness would most likely be deserved. 

“Then what is it?” Neville asks softly. 

Sometimes, Draco doesn’t understand how it is that they ended up here; he used to think that Neville was an idiot, and a coward, and entirely useless, but, during the war, when Neville was the only person he could talk to, he’d learned he’d been entirely wrong. Neville had seen him during the worst of it, shaking, crying, pale and terrified and _raw_ in a way that Draco had never wanted to expose himself to anyone. He’d had no choice, then, but Neville had made it – _livable._ Not _fine_ , not _good_ \- nothing could’ve, during those times – but he’d made Draco want to live to see the end of the war. 

And _then_ \- then, there was no war, and there was only the two of them sitting on the floor of Draco’s rented flat because he was cast out of the manor, drunk off their arses. Draco had kissed him, and he had never kissed anyone before, but he was sure that that was the best kiss in the world, because there was no way anything could’ve felt better; of course, he’d been wrong. He’d learnt so in the kiss after that one, and the one after that, and then they were snogging on the couch and Draco never wanted to let go. 

Thankfully, Neville had returned his feelings, and after they’d talked about it – after a few weeks of heated snogging where they both pretended that was all it was – they'd begun dating. _Dating_. Draco never thought he’d be so lucky. 

“I don’t - want to disappoint you,” he says, annoyed at himself for his honesty. Being around a bloody Gryffindor is rubbing off on him. 

Neville kisses his nose, then the edge of his lips, and then his mouth, properly. 

“You won’t,” he says. “Even if you don’t get along - I won’t be disappointed. I’m just asking you to try.” 

And Draco hates himself for being so weak for his boyfriend, but he can’t make wise decisions while he’s pressing kisses to his lips the way he is, so he nods dumbly. Neville smiles and takes his hand, leading him into the Great Hall. 

They head towards the eighth-year table – and really, that’s not new, Draco always eats there – but they walk past where the returning Slytherins are sitting, where Draco always eats, and right into Gryffindor territory. 

And Draco’s not scared of some flimsy Gryffindors – he's _not_ \- but he _really_ doesn’t want to ruin this; he’s spent enough time in his life fucking up everything that’s good for him just because he didn’t know how to react properly, and he doesn’t want that to happen with _this._ What him and Neville have – and Draco _really_ can’t figure out what, exactly, it is that the other boy sees in him – is too precious to let go without fighting for it. 

Draco doesn’t want to ruin it for himself by insulting his boyfriend’s friends. 

“Malfoy.” It’s, surprisingly, the Weaslette who greets him first; though he did save one of the Weasley twins – since then, the Weaslette has taken to nodding at him in the hallways, not quite friendly but acknowledging – he didn’t expect her to take the news well. 

The rest of Neville’s friends follow, muttering their greetings – except Luna, who says her ‘hello’ quite loudly and kisses his cheek – all save for Potter. He merely clenches his jaw angrily, refusing to look at Draco at all. 

Draco wants to taunt him about it, wants to say something to get Potter riled up and _angry_ , but he bites it back harshly. 

“Hello,” he says cautiously, instead, letting Neville pull him down beside him. They sit next to each other, sides pressed together, and Neville immediately wraps a possessive arm around Draco’s waist. Potter’s jaw tightens further at that. 

No one says anything. 

* 

Despite the horrible awkwardness of their first breakfast together, Malfoy keeps showing up. Ginny makes conversation with him, overtly forced and uncomfortable at first, but, over the course of a few weeks, it becomes less and less forced, and Harry realizes, in one horrible moment, that they’re _getting along_. 

Luna talks with him, too, of course, but Harry knows Luna talks to anyone. Ginny’s tighter about it, too passionate and caring about everything to simply _forget_ who Malfoy is and what he’s done. Harry thought that she, of all people, would be like him, entirely against the idea of him dating one of their best friends. 

“That’s bullshit, Weaslette,” Malfoy scoffs, and that, _that’s_ the worst of it! Malfoy calls Ginny _Weaslette_ , and Ginny calls him _tosser_ , and neither of them begin a fight about it! They don’t get angry, there are no wands, or hexes, or hell, fists; they only get this look on their face of something like _fondness_. “You’re wrong about this, just like you were wrong about the Siren War.” 

Ginny rolls her eyes, arm around Luna’s waist loosely as she leans back. “I’m not. The Holyhead Harpies are the best team, and they _deserved_ to win the 1754 World Cup.” 

“No, they didn’t.” Malfoy rolls his eyes. “They played _horribly_ , and-” 

“What about the Siren War?” Hermione asks, interested. 

Harry and Ron look at each other; _oh no._

“Draco thinks the Siren war of 1856 was _entirely_ wizard-caused.” Ginny says. 

“It was,” Malfoy says, raising an arrogant eyebrow; Neville, by his side with a hand on his hip, grins dopily, and presses a kiss to his temple. Malfoy’s cheeks color lightly, and he turns his head slightly to let Neville press a kiss to his lips. That’s another thing Harry _hates_. Neville keeps touching him and kissing him so sweetly as though Malfoy has never done wrong. As though he’s forgetting their entire childhood at Hogwarts. “The Minister of Magic convinced several sirens to start revolts against their Queen because the unrest was good for him-” 

“Sirens aren’t docile creatures, easy to manipulate,” Hermione says, frowning. “Their entire political system was notoriously unfair, and they were already discontent with the Queen, even before the Minister of Magic did anything.” 

And she and Malfoy get into a three-hour-long discussion about the Siren War. All Harry can think is _not you, too._

He sighs, frustrated. 

* 

Because eighth years don’t have houses – they’re not children anymore, McGonagall had told them, and it’s important, especially now after the war, that they learn to be with each other – Harry can’t get a break from Malfoy, even in the common room. 

When he comes in after going for a fly to blow off some steam, he finds his friends sitting on the couches of the common room, which is all good and fine until he sees Malfoy sitting on Neville’s lap. Neville has his arms around his waist, chin on Malfoy’s head, and Malfoy has his cheek against Neville’s shoulder, eyelashes fluttering against his neck because he’s _asleep._

Harry scowls mindlessly, considering going up to his dorm directly so that he doesn’t have to look at Malfoy, but _no_. He’s not going to let the bloody git run him out of his friend group. 

“Harry,” Luna says pleasantly, when Harry sits down. “How are you?” 

“Fine,” Harry says shortly. He watches as Neville rubs small circles with his thumb on Malfoy’s hip, and the knot in his chest tightens further. He _hates_ this, hates it with his entire soul – he wants Malfoy _out_. 

“No,” Neville says quietly, and Harry startles. He looks up at Neville, momentarily pausing his angry glaring, and Neville shakes his head. “I know you hate him, Harry. And I'm sorry, I am, and I understand, but I’m in love with him. _In love_ with him.” 

“I know,” Harry says defensively. He doesn’t think he does; despite his brief relationship with Ginny, he doesn’t think he’s ever been _in love_ . He’s never felt that way, like Neville seems to, willing to do anything and everything for someone that way. For Ron and Hermione, sure. For Neville, Ginny, Luna. His _friends_. But not for someone he’s in a relationship with. 

“Could you try? To get along,” Neville says. His hand squeezes around Malfoy’s waist lightly, soothingly, and Harry hates the softness of it too. “He’s trying.” 

That much, at least, is true. Malfoy hasn’t insulted Harry in the entire time he and Neville have been dating. Harry had spent the first few days with a clenched jaw, refusing to talk near him at all, and then spent the following few days trying to bait him into insulting him, trying to get Neville to realize what a horrible person Malfoy still is. 

It hasn’t worked, but Harry has at least enjoyed the way Malfoy flushes when he’s angry, jaw tightening and glare narrowing at Harry, evident proof that he’s not the harmless little lamb he’s pretending he is. 

“Look, Nev, I just...” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, sighs again. “He’s not – we're not _friends_ . We _hate_ each other.” 

“And I don’t care, Harry.” Neville tells him. “I don’t care if you hate each other, I can’t make you like him. But I _do_ care if you’re both throwing underhanded insults and picking for fights any time you’re in the same room.” 

Harry looks away, embarrassed, and meets Hermione’s disapproving look. He looks away from her, too. 

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll try.” 

Neville gives him a look. 

“I _will_ ,” he insists. 

“Thank you,” Neville says. 

* 

“Malfoy.” Harry has to corner Malfoy in the hall to get him alone; Harry has been trying to talk to him for a few days, but it seems that Malfoy and Neville are now attached at the hip. It makes something in Harry’s chest burn, for some reason. He doesn’t think about it too much. 

"What do you want, Potter?” Malfoy asks, looking annoyed and just a tiny bit curious. 

Harry fights back the urge to punch him; it’s an automatic reaction whenever Malfoy opens his mouth. 

“I don’t trust you,” Harry states outright. “And I don’t like you.” 

“Shocker,” Malfoy snorts under his breath. 

“Shut up,” Harry snaps at him. “I’m telling you this because Neville wants us not to fight with each other, and that might actually be impossible with you _speaking_.” 

“So, what, you want me to _not_ talk?” Malfoy snarls. “Like that won’t raise suspicions. And anyways why don’t _you_ shut up?” 

“I’m Neville’s friend!” 

“I’m his boyfriend!” 

They glare at each other. 

“I was his friend first,” Harry tells him. 

Malfoy, out of lack of anything better to say, says, “We have sex!” 

“Ew, Malfoy, I don’t want to know that!” Harry snaps, face hot. Then, “In our _shared_ dorm?” 

Malfoy’s face turns very red, and he sticks his tongue out at Harry. 

“Fine, fine, fine,” Harry snaps. “Clearly, neither of us is going to win this, so we have to pretend to get along.” 

“Fine,” Malfoy says. 

“ _Fine,”_ Harry snaps. 

They glare at each other tightly. 

* * * 

“You two are quiet,” Hermione remarks, looking wearily between Potter and Draco. Draco’s sitting next to Neville on the grass around the Black Lake, and Neville’s arm is wrapped heavily around his waist. Draco would never admit it, but he likes that Neville touches him so often. It makes him feel... wanted. Safe, too. But saying it would make him sound like a bloody Hufflepuff, so he doesn’t. 

Potter looks at Draco and clenches his jaw, so Draco is the one to speak; he doesn’t trust Potter not to ruin this by opening his mouth. 

“Are we?” He asks lightly. 

“Yes,” Neville says, chin on Draco’s shoulder, and Draco sighs comfortably. His back is pressed against Neville’s chest, and he can feel him breathing; it’s more calming than anything else in the world. “Are you fighting?” 

And he sounds somewhere between resigned, disapproving, and disappointed, and Draco doesn’t want him to sound like that because of him. 

“No,” he says. It’s technically true. “Right, _Harry_?” 

Potter glares at him for half a second, and then forces himself to relax, leaning back on his elbows. “Right, _Draco_. We’re not fighting. In fact, we’re friends now. Right?” 

And he kicks Draco’s leg, a little too hard for it to be friendly. 

“Right,” Draco snaps at him, glaring. 

Neville chuckles lightly, and presses a kiss to Draco’s jaw, making his cheeks warm. 

“I’m glad,” He says lightly. 

Draco forces a smile. 

* * * 

Because the ‘Malfoy-Potter problem’ is fixed, Malfoy begins hanging around more. Harry already thought he was always there, but now he’s actually _always_ there. Neville takes him along on pub nights, when they go to Hogsmeade , during meals; hell, Malfoy is _sleeping_ in Neville’s bed! 

Harry might actually be driven crazy by it. 

He honestly can’t get a minute of respite. 

Not even at half past two in the morning, it seems. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks mildly, when he walks down to the common room – expecting to find it empty – and finds Malfoy curled into one of the sofas by the fire. He’s wearing at least three layers _and_ has a blanket over him, even though it’s not that cold. 

Malfoy looks up at him briefly from his book. 

“No.” He says. He rubs a hand over his eyes – the sleeves of the hoodie he’s wearing are too long, and they fall over his hands, making Harry _feel_ things – and sighs. “You?” 

Harry almost doesn’t know what he’s being asked. 

“What?” He asks. “Oh. No, I couldn’t sleep either.” 

They’re quiet for a moment, and even though Harry had originally planned to go for a late-night walk, he sits on the sofa opposite Malfoy’s. 

“Was it nightmares?” Harry doesn’t know why he asks. 

Malfoy looks up at him – he looks terrible, with dark bags under his eyes and too-pale skin – and then shrugs a shoulder. 

“Not really. I’d have to have fallen asleep for it to be nightmares.” He says. “You?” 

“No,” Harry lies. He’d woken up with his heart beating in his ears, nails biting into the skin of his palms and breathing so fast he’d thought he’d never get it under control. He doesn’t even remember what the nightmare was about – it had faded away shortly after waking up – but he still feels faint traces of panic because of it, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to fall back asleep anytime soon. 

He doesn’t know if Malfoy believes him, but he doesn’t ask, and Harry doesn’t offer an explanation. He takes in the details of Malfoy’s clothing; the hoodie he’s wearing is Gryffindor red, which most likely means it’s Neville’s, and Harry can see a baby blue jumper underneath it; the blanket is dark green with small golden snitches sewn into it, and Harry can see that it’s thick, with a fluffy white lining on the inside. 

“I’m always cold.” 

Harry looks at Malfoy. “What?” 

“The blanket,” Malfoy says, a faint flush covering his cheeks. “You were staring.” 

“Oh,” Harry says, and he has the decency to look away. “I was just – wondering.” 

“I’m always cold,” Malfoy repeats. “It’s a side effect of _Crucio_.” 

“Oh,” Harry says. He’d never imagined Malfoy had ever been under a _Crucio_ _,_ let alone enough of them to cause lasting damage. 

He knows Malfoy spied for them; he didn’t quite believe it, at first – no one had bothered to tell him until _after_ the war was over, which had forced Harry to reevaluate all of Malfoy’s actions – but it’s been a while since he found out, so he’s made his peace with it. It didn’t really change how he felt about Malfoy – because Malfoy is a prick – but it isn’t until now that Harry realizes he hasn’t really thought through what that entailed. 

Spying for them meant risking his life, every day, to get them information. It meant willingly going back to his house, every possible moment, being around Voldemort and his Death Eaters because he believed he could be useful. It meant being there and _staying_ there, of his own free will, every time something awful happened, every time someone got hurt. Even if that someone was Malfoy. 

Harry had logically known all that, of course, but he hadn’t really thought about it in any sort of emotional spectrum. He realizes it must’ve been terrifying. 

“I’m sorry.” he says. 

Malfoy smiles wryly. “I think this is hardly the worst of it.” 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees quietly. He says, “It _was_ nightmares.” 

Malfoy smiles faintly. “I know.” 

They don’t speak for the rest of the night, but it’s comfortable enough that neither of them leave the common room, not until much later, when the sun is rising and Malfoy says that if he doesn’t get back to bed Neville will have questions. 

The reminder that Draco’s spending the night in Neville’s bed – because they’re dating – makes Harry’s heart do a funny thing he can’t quite decipher. 

* * * 

“Where’s Malfoy?” Harry is the first one to ask when Malfoy doesn’t show up with Neville for breakfast. “Did you guys break up?” 

He doesn’t know how he’d feel if Neville said yes; he thinks he might feel slightly hopeful, but he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t hate Malfoy anymore - his company is sort of nice, really – but his heart does that funny thing again. 

“I thought you didn’t hate him anymore,” Neville says with a cocked eyebrow. 

“I don’t,” Harry says, aware that he sounds more defensive than he’d meant to. 

Neville frowns lightly, but shakes his head. “He’s gone to Madam Pomfrey’s.” 

“He’s sick?” Hermione asks, and Harry’s grateful that she asks, because otherwise he would’ve, and he thinks it might look a little suspicious. 

“No,” Neville shakes his head. “He wants to be a healer, and he wanted to speak to her about his NEWTS.” 

“Oh,” Malfoy wants to be a healer. Huh. It’s Harry’s belly that does a funny thing now. 

Maybe he should go see Madam Pomfrey. 

* * * 

“You’re a pig,” Malfoy says, unimpressed, when he catches Harry staring at a Hufflepuff’s arse. He’s a year below them, in Ginny’s year, but Harry doesn’t know his name. 

Harry’s cheeks turn red, and he glares at Malfoy. 

“Shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes, as Neville snickers. They’re walking down the hall towards the Quidditch pitch. Ron and Ginny are there, too, but they’re bickering about whether the Holyhead Harpies or the Cannons are better. “Neville stares at _your_ arse all the time and I don’t hear you calling him a pig because of it.” 

“I’m allowed to stare at his arse. We’re dating,” Neville says, actually reaching down and squeezing Malfoy’s arse, which makes Malfoy flush and Harry feel that weird thing in his chest again; he doesn’t like it. He should _definitely_ see Madam Pomfrey. 

* * * 

Draco wakes up with his heart beating in his throat. Again. 

“Nightmare?” Neville notices, of course. His voice is sleepy, and when Draco looks at him his eyes are only half-open. 

“Yeah.” He clears his throat, sits up, and rubs at his eyes. “I’m fine.” 

He’s not; he’s been having nightmares for three days straight, and though it’s not – by far – the longest he’s spent having nightmares they’ve been particularly gutting, and he hasn’t been getting any sleep, which in turn makes the nightmares worse, which makes him sleep even _less_ , and so on and so on until he’s miserable. And making everyone around him miserable, too, because of his horrible mood. 

Neville is quiet for a moment, but when Draco lies back down, he immediately wraps an arm tightly around his waist. 

“It’ll be alright,” he tells him, kissing his forehead. “It’s alright.” 

Draco nods, wrapping an arm around Neville’s waist and fisting his hand around his shirt. He wants to believe it, he does, but not sleeping makes him feel completely, helplessly _hopeless_ , apart from being frustrating as fuck, so he isn’t exactly surprised when tears begin gathering in his eyes. 

He sniffles and brings a hand up to wipe furiously at his eyes, but it’s useless. 

He sees Neville reach for his wand, hears him cast a silencing charm. 

“Let it out,” he soothes, sitting up, and helping Draco sit up with him. “Come on. Tell me.” 

“I just – I'm so _angry_ .” He says, and it comes out weak, and pathetic, and he _hates_ it. He hates it, all of it: the nightmares, the fact that he can never seem to sleep well, the war, the fact that they were _children_ . All of it, he hates it, he hates it, he _hates_ it- “I _can’t_.” 

And he breaks down sobbing, loudly enough that he’s thankful Neville’s cast a silencing charm. 

“I know,” Neville murmurs gently. He pulls Draco close, into his lap, and wraps his arms around him so tightly they’re pressed together everywhere. “I know you hate it, darling. I know you’re angry. But you can. You’ll get through it. I’ll be here.” 

Draco cries into his shoulder and wraps his arms around Neville’s shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist, and shakes his head where it’s resting against Neville’s shoulder. 

“I can’t,” he says, and it breaks Neville’s heart more than anything else has. “I don’t want to keep having nightmares, I’m done, I don’t - I can’t have them again, they’ll drive me insane-” 

“Yes, you can,” he insists. “You can. And it’ll get better. This won’t be forever. I love you so much, darling, so much. You’re the most amazing person I've ever met.” 

“I love you, too,” Draco says quietly; he’s not one to say it often, or in front of people, but he shows it in a million different ways, each one making Neville love him a little bit more. 

Draco sniffles again, and Neville pulls away lightly, cupping Draco’s face to make him look at him. His eyes are an impossibly light grey; they always get lighter when he’s crying. 

“Would I ever lie to you?” He asks. 

Draco shakes his head mutely. 

“Good. You’re right, I wouldn’t.” He presses a small kiss to the edge of Draco’s mouth. “Listen to me. I _promise_ you that it will get better. You won’t feel this way forever. I _promise_. On my life, Draco Malfoy.” 

And he does, because if it doesn’t get better on its own, he’ll make it better. He doesn’t care how, doesn’t care what he has to do, but he’d do _anything_ if it meant his boyfriend felt a little better. He’ll _do_ anything. He’ll chase the nightmares away if he has to, armed with a wand and holding Draco’s hand. 

“I’ll believe you for now,” Draco sniffles, and rests his cheek against Neville’s shoulder again. “But you better not be lying to me.” 

Neville snorts lightly, kissing Draco’s hair. “Never, darling.” 

And he doesn’t fall asleep again, not really, but it’s comfortable enough to lie there in Neville’s arms, safe and warm. 

* * * 

“You look like shit,” Harry says with a raised eyebrow; he immediately bites his tongue and thanks Merlin no one heard him. His friends would’ve thought it meant their whole ‘friendship’ had been a ruse, and though it is – mostly, not completely, not anymore – Harry doesn’t want them to find out. 

“Sure know how to charm a guy, Potter.” Malfoy rolls his eyes, and Harry’s cheeks heat. 

“I’m not trying to charm you,” he says, stomach tightening, voice coming out weird. Malfoy gives him an odd look, so Harry rushes to continue. “I’m only saying it because it’s true. Have you slept at all?” 

“Didn’t know you were so interested in my wellbeing.” Malfoy continues before giving Harry a chance to defend himself. “I haven’t been sleeping well.” 

Harry’s opening his mouth when Neville walks up to them; Harry’s stomach sinks, and he doesn’t know why. 

“Hey.” Neville grins, leaning over to kiss Malfoy’s lips. Malfoy returns the kiss chastely, and Neville sits beside him, putting an arm around his waist; they’re sitting in the library – to study for their NEWTS – and Malfoy and Harry had been the first ones there. Malfoy had gotten to the library early to check out some books he’d wanted, and Harry had had nothing better to do than to go with him. 

Although that’s a lie; he could’ve very well gone with Ron and Hermione to the common room for a while. He chose not to. He’s also choosing not to look too deeply into that decision. 

“Hey,” Malfoy murmurs, resting his head on Neville’s shoulder, and it’s soft, and sweet, and vulnerable, and none of these are characteristics Harry’s used to associating with _Malfoy_ . And it’s only for Neville; it’s him Malfoy’s looking at, eyes bright and honest in a way they’re not, in a way _he’s_ not, not with anyone else. 

It tightens Harry’s stomach further. 

He and Malfoy, they’ve been spending more time together lately – most of it around the rest of their friends, sure, but some of it alone, too, mostly in the Common Room at dawn when the entire world seems to be still and asleep except for them – and Harry thought it’d be horrible, he did, but it’s not all that bad. 

Malfoy is annoying as fuck, sure, and it’s sort of disgusting how often he and Neville kiss, and hug, and touch each other – and the two – _two –_ times they’ve forgotten to cast silencing charms Harry nearly spelled his ears shut – but he’s not... _that_ bad. 

He’s sort of – funny. Sometimes. And now that he’s not hurling insults at Harry, it’s harder to be constantly angry at him. They almost – _get along_ . Sort of. And anytime he’s reminded of Neville’s and Malfoy’s relationship – which is often – his chest sort of – _burns,_ and not because he hates Malfoy, because he doesn’t feel it the way he did before, anger and hurt and distrust all burned tight into a knot he felt in his throat anytime he had to look at Malfoy. 

Now... well, now it’s different. 

Harry doesn’t know why. 

“Everything alright?” Neville asks him, and Harry realize he’s been staring for too long. He forces himself to nod. 

Malfoy’s fallen asleep on Neville’s shoulder, less than five minutes after his arrival. Malfoy, who’d been restless, and anxious, and jittery all day long had put his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder for _three_ minutes maximum and had fallen _asleep_. Face relaxed, no sign of the near-permanent crease between his brows. As if nothing bad had ever happened to him. As though there were no nightmares waiting. 

Harry swallows. 

“You really don’t hate him?” Neville asks softly, to avoid waking Malfoy, and Harry shakes his head and swallows again. 

“No,” he says, realizing, for the first time, just how far he might be from hating Malfoy. “I don’t.” 

* * * 

“That sounds like jealousy,” Ron says, because of course he does, when Harry describes his feelings to him. He’s sitting on his bed in their dorm – him, Harry, and Neville share a dorm – and eating peanut butter straight from the jar – which Harry doesn’t know how he got. He’s listening to Harry with an entertained – and rather amused – look on his face. 

Harry makes a face. 

“No, no, listen to me, mate.” Ron rolls his eyes. “I’ve spent a _lot_ of my life being jealous. I _know_ what I’m talking about. And what _you’re_ talking about? It’s jealousy down to the bones.” 

“But _why_?” Harry asks, exasperated, because as much as he didn’t want to hear it, he’d himself suspected it was jealousy. “I’m not – it doesn’t make sense! Neville’s my friend! I should be happy for him!” 

“You can’t just _force_ yourself to feel happy for him.” Ron shrugs. “It’s not that easy.” 

Harry slumps into his own bed miserably. “I know. I don’t want to be a bad friend though.” 

Ron’s eyes soften, and the amusement fades. “You’re not.” 

Harry gives him a look. “Pretty sure being into my friend’s boyfriend makes me a bad friend.” 

Ron rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re _not_ . Look, is it ideal? No. But you’re not hurting anyone! Making a move on Malfoy, that would _definitely_ make you a bad friend. Plotting to break them up so you can have a chance, that would also make you a bad friend. Telling Malfoy of your feelings, meh, morally questionable, but that’s more in the gray area than the other two. My point _is_ , you’ve done none of these things! You have feelings for someone, and you can’t control that, mate. As long as you don’t interfere with Neville’s relationship, it’s no one’s business.” 

“Alright,” Harry says uneasily. 

* * * 

“Hey.” Potter freezes when he goes into the dorm and finds Draco lying on Neville’s bed, doing homework, with Neville resting his head on the small of his back, reading a Herbology book. 

“Hey,” Potter says, awkwardly, looking around as though he’d rather be anywhere else. “I, uh. I’ll leave.” 

“You don’t have to.” Draco frowns. “It’s your room. And anyway, we’re not making any noise. You can take a nap or whatever it is you wanted to do.” 

Potter nods, but stands by the doorway uncomfortably for a few more minutes. Draco glares at him when he gets tired of it, and opens his mouth to tell Potter to _do_ something, only to be shocked silent. 

The sunlight is hitting Potter’s face, and Draco is shocked when his first thought is _wow_. Potter is – well, handsome. Draco’s not really attracted to him, or anything, but he’d never really noticed Potter’s face properly, not without wanting to punch him. 

“What?” Potter asks, and Draco feels his cheeks heat. 

“Nothing,” he mutters, looking away and back down to his book. Fuck, but Blaise would laugh at him endlessly for this; he’d be right to, too. Draco has a boyfriend, one he loves more than anything in the world. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice how attractive people are – especially when he was practically raised on judging everyone on how they look, which he tries not to do anymore, but sometimes it’s automatic, taking in everything from their clothes to their jewelry to the way they wear their eyebrows, everything telling him just how rich, and therefore important, according to his parents, they are – but _Potter_ ? It’s - _weird_ . He’s Neville’s friend, and he’s _Potter_ of all people! 

Draco, very pointedly, doesn’t look up, until Neville pinches at his hip. Draco twists his head to look at him, and Neville gives him a knowing look that makes Draco’s cheeks redden even more. 

“I’ll, uh, leave,” Potter says again, and slips out the doorway. 

Draco buries his face in the pillow with a groan while Neville laughs. 

“You think he’s hot,” he states, amusement and mirth filling his voice. 

“No, I don’t!” Draco tells him, cheeks burning, refusing to look at his boyfriend. 

“You do!” Neville laughs. “You totally, definitely _do_. You think Harry’s hot.” 

“I don’t,” Draco insists, finally looking up. He turns to lie on his back and looks at the ceiling, while Neville rearranges himself so he’s resting his chin on Draco’s stomach, looking up at him with a smirk. “I just – hadn't noticed his face.” 

Neville laughs again, and Draco pouts lightly, smacking at his shoulder. 

“Shut up,” he tells him. “Aren’t you like – angry or something?” 

Secretly, he’s immensely relieved that Neville isn’t; just because he finds other people attractive doesn’t mean anything, and Neville knows him too well not to notice it when he notices the way someone looks. If he got angry every time, they'd had a problem. 

“Nah,” Neville says, shaking his head with a cocky smile. “Doesn’t mean anything. Plus, I know only I can do this.” He presses a soft kiss against Draco’s stomach, over his shirt. “Or this,” He kisses his way up his ribs and chest. “Or _this_ ,” he kisses Draco’s neck, his jaw, anywhere but his lips until Draco’s practically trembling, hands gripping tight on Neville’s shoulder blades. 

“Kiss me,” he breathes. 

Neville smiles and obliges, pressing a deep kiss to his lips. Draco curls his legs around his waist, not planning on stopping the kiss for a long, long time. 

* * * 

“You’re - dressed, at least.” Ron says, when Neville and Draco come to the common room; their clothes are in disarray, hair a mess, and Draco’s cheeks are crimson. It doesn’t take much to guess what they were doing. 

“It’s four in the afternoon, you animals.” Hermione says, but she’s smirking. 

“Shut up,” Neville tells her, friendly, while he sits down on the couch. He wraps his fingers around Draco’s wrist, and pulls him into his lap, peppering kisses across his cheek and jaw with adoration in his eyes. 

He loves his boyfriend, more than he ever considered possible, and he can’t be faulted if sometimes they get a little bit carried away. They’re young for a reason, aren’t they? 

“Hey, at least we didn’t have to hear it this time.” Ron says, shrugging. 

Neville looks up, curious, and feels Draco tense in his lap. 

“You - when did you _hear_?” He asks, mortified. 

“Couple of weeks ago.” Harry tells him awkwardly. He won’t look quite at Draco, which is – interesting, really. Neville’s never known Harry to be particularly bashful when talking about sex, but, right now, he’s looking away with an odd look on his face. “You forgot silencing charms.” 

Neville gives a snort, and Draco slaps his chest, which makes him dissolve into helpless laughter. 

“It’s not _funny_ ,” Draco snaps weakly, cheeks burning. 

“A little bit.” Neville says with a grin. “You remember that night? You gave me a huge speech about privacy and propriety and said you’d be casting the silencing charms from now on just because mine failed _once_.” 

“Yes, well, I forgot.” Draco says, peeved. “You tied me up after that, I-” His cheeks turn an unbelievably dark shade of red, and the flush spreads down his neck and all the way to the tips of his ears. “I _forgot._ ” 

Neville laughs again but rubs soothing circles on his boyfriend’s hip, where his hand is resting. He does remember he’d tied Draco’s hands afterwards, and the amazing sex that followed. He shifts lightly, changing his line of thought before it becomes evident. 

“I know, darling,” He says, pressing a chaste kiss onto his boyfriend’s lips. Draco practically melts at the nickname, and Neville buries his face in Draco’s shoulder, smiling. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Draco says, smiling, thoroughly distracted. 

He’s so lost in it he doesn’t notice Harry frowning and looking away. 

“Disgusting,” Ron says cheerfully, throwing a pillow at them. “Please stop.” 

Neville rolls his eyes but snorts, smiling and wrapping his arms tighter around Draco’s waist. 

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “No more. What do _you_ want to do then?” 

“Hermione was telling us she could teach us poker.” Ron says. “But we don’t have a deck of cards.” 

“I do.” Neville says. It had been one of the things he’d bought the first time he and Draco went to a muggle supermarket together. “It’s up in my trunk.” 

“I’ll get it.” Harry offers with a shrug. 

“I’ll come with you,” Neville says. “I don’t remember exactly where they are.” 

“Alright.” Harry nods, and Neville pats Draco’s hip. Draco pouts but gets off his lap, and Neville grins and kisses his cheek before standing up. 

He and Harry walk upstairs silently, and when they get to their dorm, Neville begins looking through his trunk. 

“They should be here somewhere.” He says, frowning lightly. Honestly, his trunk’s a mess by this point in the year, and he’s been meaning to organize it, but he hasn’t had the time. 

“Let me help.” Harry says. 

They look through the trunk together, and, after a few minutes, Harry frowns. 

“I think I-” he pulls his hand out, but, instead of a deck of cards, he’s holding a small black box. They both freeze. 

_Shit_. 

“Uh.” Before he can say anything, Harry opens the box; the glittering diamond engagement ring sits there, shiny in the sunlight coming in through the window. 

“What is this?” Harry asks, hilariously panicked. 

“Nothing,” Neville says quickly, snapping the box shut and taking it from Harry, shoving it to the bottom of his trunk. Harry gives him a _look –_ one eerily similar to Draco’s _looks,_ though not quite as intimidating – and Neville sighs, rubbing his face warily. “An engagement ring.” 

“I got that,” Harry says. “For _Malfoy_?” 

“Can’t call him Draco yet, can you?” Neville says with a rueful sigh. “Yes, Harry. For Draco. I want to marry him.” 

“I - why didn’t you tell us?” Harry asks. He blinks, perplexed, and, if Neville’s not mistaken, more than a little hurt. “Tell _me_?” 

Neville sits back. “Well, you _hated_ him. I – it wasn’t really a _plan_ , before. We’ve only been dating for six months, and we’re - _young,_ young.” 

Six months mean nothing, not really, but that’s not how long this has been in the making; that’s not how long Neville’s wanted to hold Draco’s hand, kiss him tenderly, make him feel safe, and warm, and _loved_. 

“Then _why_ ?” Harry asks, a little desperately. “You don’t _have_ to. It’s - we’re eighteen.” 

“I know, but – _fuck_ .” Neville exhales. “Look, Harry, have you ever – have you been in love? And I don’t mean _just_ in love, but – but the sort of thing you _know_ is real, the sort of thing you want for the rest of your life?” 

Harry shakes his head mutely. 

“I am. With _Draco_ . I want to spend the rest of my life with him, married or not. We’re in our last year of school, and no one knows what’s going to happen after this. _Shit_ , I don’t even know what I _want_ after this, but I know I want _him_. For the rest of my life.” 

They’re both quiet for a moment, and then Harry speaks. 

“You said there wasn’t a plan.” He says. “Does it mean there is now?” 

Neville nods. “Sort of. I think I’ll do it when we’re away from here.” 

He doesn’t really have it planned out; there have been so many times when him and Draco have been simply lying in bed together, hands joined, or Draco’s been immersed in a book, hand clasped in Neville’s, and he just – he's wanted to tell him _so bad_. All of it, how much he loves him, how he thinks he might not be able to breathe without him. 

How he _needs_ for him to be there forever. 

He doesn’t think he can hold back much longer, especially if Draco and him go back to their flat. 

“Oh.” Harry says. He sounds – disappointed. Hurt. A little like he’s been punched. “I - congratulations.” 

Neville frowns. “I love him, Harry.” 

“No, I get it.” Harry says, more certain this time. He finally looks at Neville. “I’m happy for you, Nev. I hope he says yes.” 

Neville hopes he does, too. 

* * * 

“What are you doing for the winter holidays?” Hermione asks. 

“Ron and I are staying,” Ginny says. She’s frowning deeply, playing chess against her brother, sitting in one of the tables of the Great Hall. “Fred and George are taking our parents on an exotic trip to the Caribbean, Charlie’s staying in Romania, and Bill and Fleur are going to visit him. Percy’s - well, I don’t know what Percy’s going to do, honestly, but he hasn’t invited us.” 

“I’m staying, too,” Luna says. “My father’s spending Christmas with my mother this year, and I can’t visit her grave again so soon, it’ll bring bad luck.” 

“Draco and I are going home,” Neville says. For once, Draco isn’t at his side; he’s sitting several seats away, speaking to Parkinson and Zabini, the three of them deep in conversation. “I’m pretty sure our plants have died by this point, but Draco wants to check on them.” 

After formally getting together, it had been less than a month before Neville had moved into Draco’s apartment; his grandmother had practically kicked him out, telling him to ‘live a little’ and he’d already been spending most of his time there, anyway, so they’d decided to make it official. They’d bought a couple of plants and even considered getting a crup, before deciding that that could probably wait until after Hogwarts. 

Neville had known they’d have no one to water their plants while they were at Hogwarts, but Draco had been so excited he hadn’t had the heart to tell him there was no point in buying them. 

“Plants?” Harry says, voice oddly high. “You have plants?” 

“Yeah.” Neville nods. 

“You live together.” 

“Yeah.” 

“ _Together?”_

_“_ Yes, Harry,” Neville says, frowning lightly. He’s been weird since he found the engagement ring, but, thankfully, he hasn’t said anything more on the subject. “Why?” 

“Nothing,” Harry says quickly. “It’s just – well, you can’t leave!” 

“No?” 

“No! Because, well – well, this is the first Christmas after the war, and – and we should spend it together. All of us, together. Right guys?” 

“Right,” Ron says forcibly, after a moment of looking at Harry weirdly. He looks at Neville. “ _Right._ We should do that! Exchange gifts and all that crap!” 

“It could be fun,” Luna says thoughtfully, looking up from her muggle coloring book. “I’ve always wanted to do a ‘secret Santa’ as the muggles call it.” 

“I _love_ Secret Santa!” Hermione exclaims. 

“Exactly!” Harry says. “ _Exactly_! So you’ve got to stay. You’ll stay, right Nev?” 

And everyone turns expectantly at him, so Neville gives a shrug and a frown. “Sure, I – I'll talk to Draco about it.” 

“Good,” Harry says, looking marginally relieved. “That’s good.” 

* * * 

“ _Staying_ here?” Draco asks, frowning, when they’re lying in bed together that night. “Why?” 

“I don’t know,” Neville says honestly, running his fingers softly up and down Draco’s back. “It seemed to be important to Harry though, so I feel we ought to. He’s my friend.” 

“I know,” Draco says softly. He chews on his lower lip. “But - what about our plants?” 

Neville snorts softly. “Darling, I think they’re dead already. We haven’t watered them since September.” 

Draco pouts. “Fine. But when we do go back home, we’re buying new plants.” 

“I’ll buy you all the plants you want,” Neville promises him, kissing the tip of his nose. 

Draco hums, content. 

* * * 

“Alright, alright.” Harry says. “We can start. Who wants to go first?” 

“Me!” Luna says, raising her hand eagerly. Her Weasley jumper is gold and blue; as soon as Ginny had told her what their plans were, Mrs. Weasley had begun knitting a Weasley jumper for each of them, even Malfoy. “I got Ron. Happy Christmas, Ron!” 

She hands him a frivolously wrapped package, and Ron’s face is bright as he hugs her. 

“Thank you, Luna.” He says politely. 

“Open it.” Luna says excitedly, and Ron does. It’s a painting, of the seven of them. 

“Luna, it’s - it’s gorgeous.” Ron says, stunned. 

“Thank you,” Luna says, pleased. “I’m glad you liked it. You’re next.” 

Ron places the painting aside carefully, and grabs his own package. 

They exchange gifts; Ron-Hermione, Hermione-Luna. Then Harry starts again, because Luna already gave her gift, and it goes Harry-Ginny, Ginny-Neville, and, finally, Neville-Draco. 

“I bought something a little – adventurous this year.” Neville says nervously. 

Ginny wrinkles her nose. “If this is a sex thing, don’t give it to him in front of us, we don’t want to know.” 

“It’s not a sex thing,” Neville says, and Harry knows what’s going to happen a second before it does. 

“Nev, wait-” he begins urgently, but it doesn’t stop him. 

Neville goes down on one knee. 

Draco goes very, very still. 

“Draco Malfoy.” Neville opens the small, black box. “Will you marry me?” 

Harry’s not breathing. 

Hermione’s mouth is half open, as is Ron’s and Ginny’s. Luna only looks pleased and mildly surprised by the development. 

“I-” Draco swallows. “Yes. Yes, Neville.” 

And then Neville’s standing up, sweeping him up into a hug, laughing and kissing all over his face. Draco’s laughing, too, wrapping his arms around Neville’s neck and kissing him dizzy. 

Their friends are clapping, congratulating them, and Harry can’t speak. 

Married. 

They’re getting _married_. 

* * * 

“I got you.” Harry’s been standing off to the side, near the window, since the celebration started. He’s not in a very cheery mood. 

“What?” He asks, looking at Draco. 

“Secret Santa,” Draco tells him. “I got you.” 

He takes something out of his pocket and hands it to Harry nervously. It’s small, and Harry unwraps it quickly and opens the box; it’s a dragon charm. 

“A bit unimaginative of me, I know,” Draco rambles. “But I’ve charmed it. If it works like it’s supposed to, it’ll keep nightmares away. I know you can’t take dreamless sleep often, and I haven’t – I don’t know if it works properly, but – well, you can hang it above your bed, you know? Or on your headboard or something, and hopefully it’ll-” he chuckles a little, wringing his hands. “I hope it’ll work.” 

“I-” Harry doesn’t know what to say. “Thank you, Malfoy. This is - it’s amazing.” 

Draco nods, and goes to walk away, before nervously looking back at Harry. 

“I know we were faking at first, Potter, but-” Draco hesitates. “It won’t be a problem, right? You don’t... hate me anymore?” 

He’s flushed, grinning like an idiot, engagement ring shining on his finger. 

“No, I don’t.” Harry says, giving a grin that feels hollow. “Draco.” 

Draco grins. “ _Harry_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading! You can find me on tumblr @mfingenius :D


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